Charles Batla Death – Dead, Obituary, Funeral, Cause Of Death, Passed Away: “Hi guys, I wish I had better news to share about my brother, Charles Batla. I wanted to make sure you heard this from me vs. seeing something on Facebook. My mother found Charles unresponsive yesterday in the attic apartment in her home. 911 was called and confirmed that he had passed away. He looked like he was asleep. He was peaceful. There was no sign of any distress or struggle. The ME said that it appeared that he had gone to sleep and just not woken up. My mother and I are still in shock. It has gutted us.
As we try to move forward, my mother has requested that no one call/text. She just can’t handle it right now. She doesn’t want food or plants. She just wants to process everything and she will let us know what she needs when she decides what that is. I’m also keeping this off of Facebook public areas until she’s ready to deal with the attention that will certainly follow.
We plan to have a Facebook group where friends and family can share memories, stories, or just come together. Charles will be cremated so we have time to plan something further down the road, when we can be outside and gathering is safer. One idea is to do a wake.
I know Charles would love to know we were all having a good party.
Hugs to you all!
To Chewbacca!
Sara
With a heavy heart, we announce the death of Charles Batla, through social media publications made on Twitter.
InsideEko is yet to confirm Charles Batla’s cause of death as no health issues, accident or other causes of death have been learned to be associated with the passing.
This death has caused a lot of friends and family of Batla so much hurt. It is in that mourning spirit that the concerned persons have taken to social media to share tributes to the deceased and condolences to the affected family.
Tributes To Charles Batla
Across social media users’ timelines are statements that show respect, admiration, and gratitude towards Batla as people mourn the passing.
Back in High School I had my first and what would later become my second most-impactful “Charles Batla Moment”. I put that in quotes because of what those words mean to me.
Charles and I were cast members of the Yorktown High School production of Pippin, and one afternoon, by some mysterious sequence of events, we were rehearsing shirtless on the school stage. We took our shirts off back then whenever we had the chance. I don’t know what to tell you. We had just completed a dance number, or a song number, or whatever, I don’t remember, and Charles was right next to me. We finished our number and I felt good about it. I was locked in. In the zone. Confident. Next thing I remember is a white hot blast of sharp pain, concentrated on my stomach. Charles Batla, unprovoked, had whipped his arm back and open-hand slapped my bare flesh with full force. Organizing my thoughts, I glared at Charles. “What the HELL, man!”
He looked back at me, smirking. “You were taking yourself too seriously,” he said. He was right. We did another take. The massive hand print faded away by the end of the weekend.
In the years since I’ve learned to appreciate and take wisdom from “Charles Batla Moments”, the self- or nature-inflicted reminders I get, from time to time, to sit back.
Take things less seriously. Take MYSELF less seriously. The bite-sized electrical shocks to the soul that bring me out of the pomp and formality of life and remind me that underneath the career and decoration and self-importance, I’m still a skinny kid looking for an opportunity to take my shirt off, having fun with my friends, rehearsing for a play that’s actually centered around a character finding life’s fulfillment in simple joys: family, friends, laughter.
I noticed “Charles Batla Moments” happening more often with age. When my daughter said my name for the first time before vomiting in my mouth? That was a Charles Batla moment. Charles Batla moments teach us we can hold on to life’s beauty without squeezing it too hard. That we can appreciate a beautiful fall day while accepting winter is just around the corner. Life is many things. Funny. Warm. Kind. It’s also temporary, like a brush painting from water. Beauty is allowed to fade. That’s what makes it beautiful.
We can appreciate a joke after we’ve stopped laughing, or take comfort in the friendship of people we haven’t seen in years. Charles understood that. He always did.
I had lunch with Charles and my friends Ilana and Matt about a year ago. Charles was in school, making his next plan. Maybe he’d teach? Or go into cybersecurity? He wasn’t sure. He spoke about his classes and what it was studying. He loved it. Every moment, every assignment. We talked about what he’d do, where he’d go when school was behind him. Then he’d make fun of himself for something minor and we’d laugh. More Charles Batla moments.
Last Saturday I spent six hours with my son and his Cub Scout troop. We ran the Troop Pinewood Derby, watching tiny wooden cars run down a metal track again, and again. The kids cheered. The adults cheered. It was a beautiful day. Afterwards I sat in my empty basement and wondered how long it would last. How long I’d have to appreciate these kids and the joy one can squeeze out of something as simple as a wooden car. I thought about the teenager my son would become, a handful of years later, rehearsing for the school play, maybe looking for excuses to take his shirt off. I don’t know. The world’s changed.
That’s when the ultimate Charles Batla moment happened. Matt called me. Charles had died in his sleep. Suddenly. Peacefully. Without pain. But he was gone. And in that moment, in my shock, Charles taught me his last lesson. Nothing is permanent. Nothing is guaranteed to last forever. Things may decay or fade or change shape, hair may thin and recede while waistlines expand. Life moves on. But beauty, even when temporary, persists. Charles’ life was beautiful. Is beautiful. And when I stop to reflect on the things I love, the people I love, the places I want to be and moments I want to preserve and hold close, never saying goodbye, I’ll think of Charles. Think of his friends. Think of the laughter and the adventures and what I’ll take from his life for the rest of mine. It’s a moment of reflection. A moment of grief. A moment of appreciation. A moment of laughter.
It’s a Charles Batla moment.
